


The Inevitable

by Altenprano



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-01-20 12:46:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1511045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Altenprano/pseuds/Altenprano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anna always knew that John would die before her, but when the inevitable happens, she finds herself not as prepared as she thought she would be. Post-S4</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Downton Abbey or the characters. Those belong to Mr. Fellowes. I apologize if the formatting is weird, as I am very unskilled in HTML coding. Thank you.

Anna had always known that John would die before her, but she could never have anticipated it to be so soon.  


Even now she struggled to keep her head high, to keep from crying in front of Mrs. Hughes and Lady Mary, who stood beside her, clad in the same dark, somber tones of the others who were present-- people Anna didn’t recognize, and wouldn’t have, even if she’d spoken with them in the village countless times before. Her gaze flitted around, following the sound of whispers as they flew among the crowd, and she had the sudden desire to flee, as if she could outrun the whispers if she put her mind to it, because that was how it worked, wasn’t it?  


Her determination had never failed her before, not when it came to John. When he’d been imprisoned all those years ago for a murder he didn’t commit, it had been her determination to delve deeper into his past-- as scathing as it had been at times-- and her steadfast faith in his innocence that had seen his exoneration through. She’d never paid any mind to what Thomas said about him being guilty, and she could recall the nights when she’d stayed up well until sunrise to catch up on any tasks she’d neglected. The only distraction she’d allowed herself, outside of her tasks as head housemaid and meals, was mending, which she hadn’t limited to Lady Mary’s or even her own, which had even caused Ms. O’Brien to leave her be. It made up for the days when Anna had to remind herself that lying in bed wouldn’t have John freed any sooner, and for the one instance when she’d taken ill and Mrs. Hughes had refused to let her work.  


The day John had been released from prison was easily counted among the happiest moments of Anna’s life, to see the fruit of her labor from across the square. She remembered how her heart had quickened at the sight of her husband emerging from the doors that had stood between them even when she had come to visit him, and how she had sprinted to meet him, almost tripping over herself in her joy. She and John were together again, and all her work had paid off, the hours spent in the boot room when his letters stopped coming, a needle and thread held in her trembling hands as she tried not to cry all over one of Lady Mary’s evening gowns, at least until the beads on the sleeves had been fixed, had yielded a desperate kiss full of longing that was worthy of the romance novels she had read as a young girl. That’s what it had felt like, a moment out of one of her books, a moment she never imagined she would come to deserve, since those things didn’t happen to women like her. She knew she was ordinary, and “ordinary” was not a trait that any of the heroines in the novels possessed, but meeting John, and seeing his face a mere hairsbreadth from hers was enough to convince her that she wasn’t. She had never been ordinary to him, and he had never been ordinary to her.  


She thought about the last letter she’d received from him-- less than a week ago, after he’d returned from London-- and her mind flew to the one that now rested in the inside pocket of her coat, which he had given to her when he returned with strict instructions not to read it until he told her to. The three sheets of paper on which he had written his farewell to her seemed to weigh heavier than paper ought to, adding to the weight of grief on her heart.  


She’d never thought that he would die before her-- she’d acknowledged it as a possibility, yes, but by no means did that mean she was fully to terms with it-- and now, standing in a crowd of colleagues, friends, and strangers, she felt more alone than she could ever remember herself feeling. It was almost worse than the weeks after Mr. Green had forced himself on her, when she’d done what she thought was right and isolated herself from her husband, even though it caused her more heartache than she’d felt until then, to think she wasn’t worthy of her husband’s love because she had been defiled by another man. She still cursed herself for not telling him sooner-- though would that have made the pain more to bear for the two of them, in the end?-- or else they would have been able to make more of their five years together as husband and wife.  


Regardless of her choices regarding that night, Anna knew that changed little. Nothing mattered now, now that her husband was dead, leaving Anna childless and without any desire to wed again. John had been the love so many girls waited for, the true love that, until that night in the courtyard, only existed between the pages of books or in the films, and now he was gone, and no amount of determination would bring him back.  


“Here he comes, Anna,” she heard Mrs. Hughes say, the dread in her voice unmistakable.  


Anna swallowed and forced her attention to lock on the gallows that loomed on the opposite shore of the sea of spectators that had come to see today’s hangings, among which was that of her husband. Her chest tightened in fear, and she fought the urge to cry out, refusing to let John see her in a state, when everything he had ever done had been for her. He had been so selfless, and she felt ashamed, that she had not been able to do something in return, so maybe she would save him from this fate he was limping towards, looking neither like a beaten animal nor a man who had stared down death plenty of times in his life.  


There was no word for the way he carried himself, but when he came to a halt and the official began to speak-- Anna didn’t hear what he was saying, though she had a feeling it was related to her husband’s crime-- John’s eyes roamed the crowd, as if searching for Anna. She did everything she could to make herself visible without upsetting the crowd or drawing attention to herself, from tilting the brim of her hat back to standing on the balls of her feet, as she had when they kissed, to make up for the height difference, all so maybe she could see her husband’s gentle smile once more.  


When he finally found her and their eyes met, she felt her heart quicken happily for what she knew would be the last time, as he gave her a smile that was riddled with grief as it was with his love for her, and she was reminded that he was there, about to be hung, because he had killed a man. He had killed the man who had raped his wife, even though Anna had made him swear not to, for fear of this exact outcome. Still, she returned that smile, hoping he would understand that she wasn’t upset with him for breaking his promise to her-- she was already grieving for him, and her love was too great to harbor any negative feelings against him.  


She held his gaze as the hangman looped the noose around his neck, unaware of the tears pooling in the corners of her eyes until they were sliding down her cheek. She felt someone-- Mrs. Hughes, she guessed-- take her hand and give it a comforting squeeze as the official ceased speaking, and Anna turned her face to the housekeeper, ducking her head as she waited to hear the sound of the trapdoor opening beneath her husband, ashamed that she couldn’t be brave in this one moment, after having endured so much alongside her husband, when it mattered most. As soon as she heard it open, she squeezed her eyes shut, biting back the anguish that she felt twist in her chest, the sudden squeeze of heartache that didn’t subside, and she doubted it would ever subside, not with John dead.  


“John,” she whimpered, burying her face in the fabric of Mrs. Hughes coat as the next convict came to the platform, ready to meet the same fate her husband had just gone to. “John…”  


“Hush now dear,” Mrs. Hughes said, stroking her hair. “Let’s get you home now, and then you can have a proper cry.” She then said something else, but all Anna heard was the opening of the door, and then, though she hadn’t heard it herself, the sudden snap of her husband’s neck.  


“What...what about John?” she asked, struggling to control herself, to not make a scene and embarrass Lady Mary.  


She heard Mrs. Hughes take a breath, and felt the rise of her chest as she did so, as if to speak, but whatever words the housekeeper had for her didn’t come. “Let’s just get you home first, then we’ll go from there, dear.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, by request, there is a chapter two. I do not own Downton Abbey. That belongs to Mr. Fellowes. 
> 
> Please leave any comments, questions, concerns, and I hope you enjoy!

She spent the train ride back to Downton in silence, watching the passing countryside with disinterest, not even registering which stations they passed through, despite the shrill cry of the train’s whistle that sounded at each stop. She was too overwhelmed by the intense feeling of grief that had built up in her chest since Mrs. Hughes had led her away to speak, let alone make it through a trip she had made countless times on her own before. 

Before, she hadn’t minded the solitude, because she knew John would be waiting for her when she returned, even if it was the late train, he would be there, waiting for her to walk back to the cottage with him. She knew she would have something to look forward to, be it the joy on his face when she appeared in the servants’ hall, or the moments when they paused on the road to steal a kiss in the shadow of a tree before continuing on their way. Even if her time away had been filled with activity, leaving her totally exhausted, or if Lady Mary was in a dour mood after a dinner or a day gone wrong, she had always been able to count on the walk from the Abbey to the cottage with her husband to lift her spirits. 

But there would be no more of that, would there? 

Instead, she would be returning alone to an empty cottage, where she and John had planned to grow old together, maybe with a few children if they could manage. 

That was what they did, right? 

They managed. 

He managed to perform his duties as His Lordship’s valet, despite his injury, and she managed to keep her head up despite Thomas and Ms. O’Brien’s remarks about her husband, or how the odds seemed constantly stacked against her and her husband. If she’d had a pound for every time she had heard him say “I can manage,” she might be able to buy Downton Abbey, if it so pleased her, which it never had, and never would. 

What use would owning Downton Abbey be if she wouldn’t have John to share it with? It was too big a space to have to herself, that was for sure, and it wasn’t something she wanted in the first place. All she’d wanted was a life with John, and she could care less about where that life took her. If it took her to a faraway town in another country, without any of her friends or family, then so be it. They would have each other, and together they would manage to get by, just like they always did, and he would never hear a complaint out of her. He was all she’d ever needed, and she’d gone for too long without knowing what she was missing, where the other part of her was, to have him taken so suddenly from her life. 

She hoped he had fully forgiven her for shutting him out, as well as for any times when she might have hurt him, so that he didn’t die harboring any resentment against her, though that was probably far from true. In all likelihood, he had forgiven her the moment she confessed, letting him hold her small frame in his arms, reaffirming his determination to repair the damage done by her percieved necessity for isolation. She knew it was silly to think he would hesitate to forgive her-- she had heard of women whose husbands had done nothing but blame them if they found out their wife had been raped-- but she should have known he would do nothing but love her and help her return to her former self, no matter how long it took. 

He let her take her time, and he had been beyond respectful and understanding when she needed to be by herself after a busy day, or when she would wake in the middle of the night, breathless and afraid after another nightmare about the concert, where Nellie Melba’s shrill vibrato had hidden Anna’s frantic cries for help. He had been patient, and loving, and kind: all things love was supposed to be. She knew she would never be able to pay him back for the love he’d shown her in the almost-five years of their marriage, and the suffocating feeling of regret-- regret for not loving him more fully, more purely, and more honestly, and regret for putting him through what she’d done, thinking it was for the best-- only built up in her chest, until she felt she was unable to breathe. 

_Serves you right,_ she thought she heard Vera say. She could almost imagine the older woman grinning triumphantly, as if this had been her plan, as if she had been the voice telling her that it was for John’s own good that she cut herself off from him. _He was too good for you. Too good for the both of us, it seems._

“Stop,” Anna muttered, somewhat roused from her haze of grief by the sudden intrusion of the thought. She caught sight of Downton in the distance, as well as Mrs. Hughes, who was looking down at her, her brows drawn together in concern.  
“Anna?” she said, clearly shocked to hear the lady’s maid speak with such a small, desperate voice. “Anna dear, are you alright?”  
Was she alright? 

Of course not. Her husband was dead. She was a widow now, and there was no honor to it. Her husband had been hung-- he died a criminal, and she was now a criminal’s widow. She could act like it didn’t bother her, handle it in her usual bright manner, but there was no denying it, so where was the point? Honesty was always the best policy, wasn’t it? That’s what she’d always said, and what kind of person could she hope to be if she didn’t stick by her words. 

When the only reply she gave the housekeeper was a small, tight nod, Anna felt an arm wrap around her, and she didn’t hesitate to sink into the half-embrace as the car rocked on the road up to the Abbey. She didn’t shrink away, like she might have, had it been anyone but Mrs. Hughes, who had practically been her mother since Anna had left the small village she’d grown up in to enter service, as her sister had done before her, only she had long since left service and had a family of her own just outside of Ripon, not far from where they’d grown up, by now. 

“What...what do I tell my mother?” Anna said, the words tumbling from her mouth without much explanation other than the sudden thought of her sister. Her mother would never understand the fate she had met, and her sister would accuse Anna of being foolish in trusting that a man of John’s “nature” would keep such a promise. Anna knew she meant well, that her sister was right, that maybe she had been silly, but she didn’t know how she would be able to face it. 

“Don’t think about that now, dear,” Mrs. Hughes said, lifting her head as the car pulled around to the courtyard, stopping and drawing the attention of several hallboys. She helped Anna out of the car, making her way, unchallenged, to the entryway back into the house, until a voice stopped Anna in her tracks. 

“No success this time, I take it,” a low, drawling voice observed, the words reaching Anna with a cloud of tobacco smoke that added to the sting of the tears that still lingered in the corners of her eyes. 

Anna took a small step towards Mrs. Hughes, ducking her head as to hide her defeat from the speaker, who would only revel in seeing her spirit broken as it had been. 

Mrs. Hughes started the under butler straight in the eye, challenging him to say more. Anna could feel the housekeeper stiffen, her posture becoming more commanding, and she hoped that Thomas would know to back down, that now was not the time. “Mr. Barrow, I advise that you remember all the good Anna’s done for you in times like this, or leave her alone altogether,” she said firmly, steering Anna past Thomas. 

She heard him give an amused “hmphf,” followed by a, “Good day to you then, Mrs. Hughes, Mrs. Bates,” before she was dragged back into her grief, as memories of kisses stolen in the courtyard and the brief grasp of John’s hand as they passed each other in the halls rose in her mind, and she once more became swallowed by her grief.

Mrs. Hughes ushered Anna to her sitting room, catching Daisy’s attention and asking for the assistant cook to bring her and Anna some tea before closing the door and coming to sit with Anna, taking the younger woman’s hands in hers. 

“I’ll see to Lady Mary tonight, Anna,” she said, her voice still tinged with worry. “You just stay here and collect yourself, okay? I’ll ask Madge to share with Lucy or Ivy tonight so you can have a room to yourself….you shouldn’t have to go down to the cottage in this state.” 

Anna nodded, wanting to protest, but knowing from experience that against Mrs. Hughes, even her determination was no use. “What about my things?” she asked, slipping a hand out of Mrs. Hughes’s hold to wipe away the tears before they could try on her cheeks, which were splotched red from crying. 

“We’ll sort that out later,” the older woman said. “Right now, I just want you to take it easy. No doubt Lady Mary would say the same, after all you’ve been through.”

“I...I will,” Anna promised, falling silent when Daisy entered, tea service in hand. She didn’t meet the assistant cook’s worried and constantly curious eyes, but instead took the teacup as Mrs. Hughes offered it with shaking hands, bringing it to her trembling lips and letting the warm liquid do away with the numbness that filled her, at least for a little while. “Thank you, Mrs. Hughes.” 

Mrs. Hughes gently lifted Anna’s chin. “It’ll be alright, dear,” she said, some firmness returning to her voice and reminding Anna that Mrs. Hughes was right, that she would feel better eventually, but not now, with the pain of her husband’s death still agonizingly fresh. “It’s not your fault. None of this is, understand?” 

“Yes, Mrs. Hughes,” she answered obediently, her eyes brightening for a moment at the housekeeper’s words, then dimming when she was reminded that it was her fault. If she hadn’t kept Mr. Bates at a distance and caused as much anguish to him as she had, this wouldn’t have happened. Her husband might still be alive, and the two tickets in his coat pocket could be nothing but a coincidence, instead of evidence against the one man she loved more than anything in the world. 

It was all her fault. She’d been right in thinking that she would be his ruin. She’d been right all along, but too stubborn to think she was safe after she was married to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the second chapter! I know it's a bit rough with a weird ending, but I didn't see a way to end it...So there! Please leave any comments or criticisms, and I hope you enjoyed!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Downton Abbey, or the characters. That belongs to Jullian Fellowes and the wonderful cast of Downton Abbey.   
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, which is a bit more dialogue than the past two, and Vera-from-beyond-the-grave is back...because I really liked playing with that idea last time, time to make it more of a thing. I should warn, there is a moment of strong language in the beginning.   
> Thank you so much and enjoy!

   It was still dark out when Anna woke, though she knew there was nothing remarkable about that, not at all.

   She and Mr. Bates had always risen before dawn, so they could make the walk from their cottage to Downtown in time for the servants’ breakfast, and sometimes they would admire the sun as it peaked over the silhouette of Downton Abbey as they went. Sometimes they talked, and other times they walked in tender, understanding silence, unable to find any words that early in the morning. Replacing such an affectionate, delicate thing like that with a silence as sudden and cold as the one she’d forced upon herself had jarred both of them, she could tell, and she felt that she’d become almost as much of a brooder as her husband had claimed to be, with only her thoughts and Mrs. Hughes for companionship.

   With that same silence, she forced herself out of bed, reminding herself that she still had to see to Lady Mary, unless she wanted to be dismissed, something she couldn’t afford to have happen, not now. She’d promised herself that she wouldn’t let herself become as much of a shadow of herself as Lady Mary had when Mr. Matthew died, and promises were meant to be kept, weren’t they? She was a grown woman, with responsibilities and a duty as a lady’s maid, which she wouldn’t allow herself to abandon. And besides, there would be plenty of work to distract herself with, and she would make sure to offer a hand with anyone else’s mending, so her hands weren’t still for a moment.

   She smoothed the front of her uniform, closing her eyes and letting the familiar feel of the fabric comfort her, a reminder that she had to keep waking up and performing whatever tasks Mrs. Hughes or Lady Mary asked of her, that life had to go on. She reminded herself that she’d been without Mr. Bates before, and she’d made it through that, hadn’t she?

  _Only you knew he was alive then, didn’t you?_ said a voice in her head, the one that sounded oddly like Vera. _But you don’t know that now, do you? You saw him hang, like he deserved to, so where’s your hope now?_

   “Stop,” Anna said, breaking the careful silence, her voice small. “You don’t know anything. He was a good man, he did it for me...He killed Green for me.”

  _He broke his promise to you,_ the voice sneered. _You were blind in trusting him-- in loving him, even. You two were nothing alike, he and I were, until_ you _came in and ruined everything!_

   “Stop,” she said again, shaking her head. “Weren't you satisfied when he was in prison?”

  _Oh, but I’m truly satisfied now, Mrs. Bates-- beyond satisfied. Seeing you finally broken_ delights _me, more than seeing that valet have his way with you did, you little whore._

   “Stop!” This time it came out louder, louder than she’d meant to, and she felt the calm she’d managed to maintain as she dressed herself crumble.

   “Anna, is everything alright?” she heard Mrs. Hughes say from the other side of the door, where she must have heard Anna talking to herself. The housekeeper sounded worried, which was all she seemed to be since Anna was attacked-- worried.

   “Everything’s fine, Mrs. Hughes,” Anna replied, trying to twist her hair into its usual, modest chignon at the nape of her neck, despite her shaking hands. After a few desperate attempts, she gave up, letting her blonde hair hang down her back as she tried to collect herself once more. She heard keys turning in the lock-- Mrs. Hughes must’ve sensed something was amiss-- but she didn’t turn her attention from her reflection, trying once more to put her hair up.

   “My, my, child,” Mrs. Hughes muttered, appearing over the shoulder of Anna’s reflection, her brows drawn together in concern. “Are you sure you’re well enough to work today? I’m sure Lady Mary would understand if Mrs. Baxter or myself saw to her today, if you need time.”

   The lady’s maid shook her head. “I can manage, Mrs. Hughes,” she said, those words only bringing a fresh onslaught of anguish as she was reminded of how Mr. Bates would always give them in reply when someone offered to help her. “Really, I can.”

   She knew Mrs. Hughes could see through her almost as well as Mr. Bates could, that she would know everything was not fine, but Anna wished she would keep her pity. She’d already had her husband arrested twice, jailed, and hung, which was more than enough to draw attention to her, and she didn’t want it again.

   The housekeeper pressed her lips together, looking as if she were about to reprimand her for her foolishness-- Anna would have done the same, she supposed, had she been in Mrs. Hughes’s shoes-- but then her expression softened. “Very well. At least let me help you put your hair up for you-- you look to be having quite the time with it, I must say.”

   “Thank you Mrs. Hughes.” Anna dropped her hands to her sides, holding her head perfectly still so the housekeeper could coax her hair into a neat knot at the base of her skull.

   “There you go,” the older woman said, giving Anna a gentle pat on the shoulder. “You look fine, Anna, better than Lady Mary did, at least, after Mr. Matthew…”

   Anna forced herself to smile-- strained and tight-lipped, as if she didn’t believe herself. “I’m very grateful, Mrs. Hughes, truly,” she said. “You’ve done so much for me, and I hardly deserve it, really, I--”

   “Nonsense,” the housekeeper said, cutting Anna off. “I remember when you first came here, Anna, and ever since then, you’ve been the closest thing I’ve been able to have to a daughter-- all the housemaids are my daughters, I suppose, but you most of all. You’ve suffered so much, child, more than any woman ought to at your age, especially one as sweet as you, and you shouldn’t feel that you’re alone.”

   “But I am, aren’t I?”

    With Mr. Bates gone, that’s how she felt, that she was all alone, struggling to find someone she’d never be able to see until the day when she would die came. Everything they had suffered together, every triumph, everything, that had brought him closer to her. Closer than a brother or best friend, or even a husband. It was almost as if they were two parts of the same being, just in two different bodies. With him gone-- with him _dead_ \-- Anna felt a strange loneliness creep up on her, dropping a curtain between her and the rest of the world.

   “You are never alone, child,” Mrs. Hughes told her, gripping her gently by her shoulders and turning her so the two were face-to-face. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that? Mr. Bates will always be with you, no matter what, do you understand?”

   “Yes Mrs. Hughes,” she said, not believing her own words. She twisted her wedding ring once, twice around her finger, finding strength in the housekeeper’s words. The sound of footsteps in the hallway caught her attention, and she realized that the rest of the house would be waking up. “We best be off to breakfast, shouldn’t we?”

    Mrs. Hughes nodded, lowering her hands to her side. “Very well,” she said. “I instructed the staff to give you some space, if you need it, Anna, and you’re welcome to use my sitting room to do your mending if you would like.”

   Anna only nodded, too focused on reconstructing her facade of calm to protest. She didn’t want the special treatment afforded to her by tragedy-- she’d had enough already-- but she knew protesting would be a fruitless venture. She didn’t understand why she received such treatment when others in the staff, like Daisy, for example, hadn’t been granted the same. Daisy’s husband had been killed in the Great War, for Christ’s sake, but she wasn’t given support like that which Mrs. Hughes was showing Anna, when Anna’s husband had died like a common criminal.

    _So now you agree,_ Vera said, startling Anna. _He was just that, you know. A common criminal. Not your knight in shining armour or your tragically heroic Sydney Carton, but a thief and a drunkard and now a murderer. Do you wonder what else blackened your husband’s name?_

   Anna didn’t answer. Instead, she made her way downstairs, sitting next to Jimmy and the empty chair that had once been Mr. Bates’s, not responding to the challenge in Thomas’s eyes as she observed the staff in silence, wondering what was going on in their heads, if they were looking at her and thinking of her as the widow of a murderer now, or if they were pitying her. She didn’t know what to hope for-- should she accept their pity or their scorn, or did it really matter?-- and she was so lost in thought that she didn’t notice that someone was saying her name until Jimmy tapped her gently on the shoulder.

   “Pardon?” she said, her voice devoid of its usual brightness, but no less attentive.

   Mr. Carson let out a soft, almost inaudible sigh of frustration, as if he had no time for her detachment from the present-- which he probably didn’t, she mused. “Anna, His Lordship has asked to see you in the study this afternoon after tea,” he told her, sending whispers around the lower end of the table, where the hall boys and housemaids sat. “I would assume it’s about...well...you know.”

   She acknowledged him with a small nod. “Thank you, Mr. Carson. I’ll be sure to arrive promptly,” she assured him, returning her attention to the uneaten toast and porridge in front of her, trying to find her appetite.

   Lady Mary’s bell chimed and Anna flew to her feet, leaving her food untouched as she went to go dress her employer for the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! A new chapter will be on its way soon, this time with Lord Grantham, which will always be fun. And sad. But still fun! Please leave reviews, comments, questions, concerns, etc.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, Chapter Four! In case anyone's forgotten, I do not own Downton Abbey or it's characters.   
> I hope this chapter isn't as awkward as the last one (that was the feel I got after rereading my final draft), and there's no Vera-from-beyond-the-grave, but I wanted to touch a little on Patmore and Daisy, to see where I could get that to go.   
> Enjoy!

   Anna went through the morning with the eerie diligence of a machine, each gesture measured, never anything done that wasn’t necessary, everything with precision and purpose. It was as if she couldn’t bear to be still, that she always had to have something in hand, be it a needle and thread or a brush and one of Lady Mary’s shoes. She made sure her mind never drifted to the thought of Mr. Bates, occupying it instead with threading a needle through the buttons on Lady Mary’s riding habit or making sure her boots shone as bright and black as her horse’s coat. Whenever her thoughts did drift towards Mr. Bates or the cottage, or anything to do with the two of them, she would continue her work, telling herself that she would see Mr. Bates after she’d dressed Lady Mary for bed.

   Oh, how she wished it to be true.

   How she wished, desperately, to have it be true, to return to the cottage with him at her side, and to curl up next to him in bed and listen to him read her to sleep. She’d forgotten what they’d been reading-- it was something by Dickens, she was sure of it-- when he left, but oh, how she longed to get back to it. She hadn’t moved the volume from its place on his side of the bed since they’d come to take him away, barely a month ago, and it was hard to remember what had been happening when he’d closed the book for the last time. But she’d never find out, would she? Her next half-day wasn’t for at least a week and a half-- the day off to see his hanging had been a gift given out of pity-- and even then, could she bring herself to go down to the cottage, knowing he wouldn’t ever set foot in it again? Could she maintain the untouched facade that she was keeping up by sheer force of will and her constantly busy hands, or would it all fall through the same trapdoor that had ended Mr. Bates’s life?

   She felt the sting of a needle biting flesh, and it wasn’t for another moment that she realized she’d pricked herself while repairing the hem of one of Lady Mary’s evening gowns. She moved the gown from under her hand, knowing blood would only ruin it, and she didn’t want to have to explain why she’d been so careless as to prick her finger, not when she was old enough to stop making such errors.

   She sighed, pinching the sleeve of her uniform and letting the black fabric swallow the red seed of blood that’d appeared on the pad of her finger before returning to her mending. It was almost time for tea upstairs, guessing from the conversation in the kitchen, which meant His Lordship would be expecting her soon.

   There was no telling what exactly he wished to see her about-- it had to do with Mr. Bates, certainly, but just what, Anna wasn’t sure-- and Anna wasn’t sure if she wanted to discuss such matters with him at the moment, things being how they were and all. She knew he would want to help-- when it came to Mr. Bates, he always did-- but she wished he wouldn’t. As much as she respected Lord Grantham as her employer and was beyond thankful for his past generosity, she was capable of taking care of herself in this situation, and she didn’t want to have the earl worrying over her too. It was enough for Mrs. Hughes to treat her like fine china, with everyone downstairs giving her space physically but seeing her always, no doubt, as the widow of a murderer. God forbid they find out what happened the night of the concert and see her as she feared Mr. Bates would see her-- not on top of being a widow, dear God, no.

   “Anna?”

   She started at the voice-- Daisy’s, she realized as she forced herself to settle, lest she prick herself again. She gave the young woman a (probably tired and somewhat forced-looking) smile as she set the mending down and turned in her seat. “Do you need anything, Daisy?” she asked, gesturing for the assistant cook to sit beside her. Even in her grief, she managed to find some brightness for her voice-- it’d taken a good portion of the day to bring herself closer to her former self, even if it was only closer by a few paces-- and she reminded herself that she and Daisy now had more in common than most downstairs.

   The young woman shook her head, declining Anna’s offer, and with good reason, the lady’s maid, realized, as Mrs. Patmore would probably be cross if she caught her assistant sitting just before tea. “I just….I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry for you,” she said, clearly fumbling for the words. “You two don’t deserve what happened, and I can only imagine what it’s like, being married for years like you were, and then having him...having him die like that. It ain’t fair, that’s it.”

   “Thank you Daisy,” Anna said, wiping at her eyes before any tears could fall. Before now, she and the young woman had not shared any sort of kinship beyond the fact that they worked under the same roof, and, as unfortunate as the circumstances were, it was nice to have such an understanding between the two. “If you ever need anything at all, I’m sure I could manage something,” Daisy offered. “It pro’ly won’t come to much, but--”

   “There you are,” Mrs. Patmore interrupted, coming to lean in the doorway, her eyes narrowed at Daisy. “You ‘eard what Mrs. Hughes said about not disturbing Anna, not to mention you’ve got tea to help me with, don’tcha?”

   “O’course Mrs. Patmore, sorry,” Daisy said, ducking her head and scurrying out of the servants’ hall.

   “It’s alright, Mrs. Patmore, really,” Anna told the cook, her mending still neglected in front of her.

   “Oh, I know, Anna,” the older woman said, coming to stand where her assistant had stood not a moment before. “But tea’s got to go up on time, y’know. The house won’t pause for a single thing, unless Mr. Carson gives the say-so, and you know that.”

   A grin laced with sadness flickered across Anna’s lips, coming to rest in her eyes. “That is true,” she said, recalling what Carson had told them-- told Daisy, more specifically-- the night Lady Sybil died.

_“We carry on, as we all must.”_

   Yes, that did sound like the proper thing to do, to carry on, as she was expected to. She couldn’t allow herself to become withdrawn and as much of a shell of herself as Lady Mary had become after Mr. Matthew’s death, or Mr. Branson after Lady Sybil’s-- though Mr. Branson took the death of his wife much better than Lady Mary, in Anna’s opinion. No, she couldn’t have that, not a bit.

   What would Mr. Bates say if he saw her like this? Well, not so much that as what would he think? She’d always been strong in times like these, always devoted and faithful, never abandoning hope or optimism, not even when he faced a life in prison. That was the Anna he loved, the Anna to whom he wrote nearly every day, the Anna who walked with him between Downton and the cottage, or slept beside him each night. That was who she had to be, not the shell Mr. Green had reduced her to, not the woman who saw herself as spoilt and unworthy of her husband, and not the woman who had been at first intimidated by his wife and almost completely deterred by her harshness alongside the firm gentleness of Mr. Bates.

   She heard Mrs. Patmore gave a quiet “hmphf,” though she didn’t hear the cook leave. Instead she just returned to her mending, focusing her attention on the calming in-out-over-under of her mending, squinting to pull the thread through the beads to make sure they were securely attached to the bodice of the dress, which was one of Lady Mary’s favorites, if she recalled correctly.

   Anna liked it too, though the dark wine color of the light fabric would never work with her coloring, and any skirts of Lady Mary’s ended up a small puddle at her feet. And what occasion would she have to wear such a dress? She was a lady’s maid, not a lady of any standing. The most sophisticated events she’d ever been to were the annual Servants’ Ball and the concert that had ended so horribly for her, and even those weren’t occasions that she would wear such a gown to.

   She heard the sound of one of the housemaids carrying the service up for afternoon tea, with either Jimmy or Mr. Molesley close behind with the tiered dish of tea sandwiches and tea cakes, and she realized she would be due to the study soon, to meet with His Lordship. With a quiet-- almost silent-- sigh, she folded up the gown and headed for her room, to pull herself together before her meeting with the earl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! The next chapter will be the meeting with Lord Grantham. I hope the pacing for all this isn't that logical and it's probably a little bit awkward, but thank you for sticking with me. Comments, questions, concerns, criticisms are always always always welcome!   
> Thank you!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Chapter 5 at last! Thank you so much to everyone whose been with me to this point, those that are just joining up, and those that are yet to come. You all mean so much to me in this process, and I thank you for that.  
> Disclaimer: I don't own Downton Abbey. At all. Unfortunately. Also, I'm not confident in my ability to write Lord Grantham well, so if there is anything off, do forgive me?  
> enjoy!

   Anna followed Mr. Carson to the door of the study, thankful for the butler’s firm silence, which allowed her to focus on keeping herself collected as she followed behind, one foot in front of the other, her eyes fixed ahead. She moved with her usual silence, her lips held in an expressionless line as they passed the housemaids who’d been charged with tidying up after afternoon tea. So much of her energy was being channeled towards not crying, towards not exposing how devastated Mr. Bates’s death had left her, that she couldn’t find the strength to even acknowledge the other young women with a polite nod.  

   Mr. Carson halted before the study door, his dark eyes watching Anna as she caught up with him. There was sadness in his eyes, which Anna had only seen on three other occasions-- when William had died, when the tragic consequence of Miss Sybbie’s birth had been relayed downstairs by a distraught housemaid, and the first few days of the mourning period for Mr. Matthew-- as well as a gentleness that, to say the least, startled the lady’s maid.

   The butler had always been fair with her, but he hadn’t played the role of confidant and surrogate parent, as Mrs. Hughes had, perhaps because of his traditionalist mindset and devotion to his work (a devotion, some of the younger housemaids and hall boys would quip, was almost that of a husband to his wife or, if they were exceptionally bold, like Isis and whoever fed her meat scraps from the kitchen). Anna didn’t doubt that Mr. Carson was capable of being gentle or loving, but she knew better than to go to him when Mr. Green attacked her, or to let him see her as anything less than a hard worker, even in the face of tragedy-- if she dared call it that.

   He didn’t say anything for a moment, his eyes searching hers for God-knew-what as they stood, facing each other. God alone knew what he saw ( _A thousand reasons to pity me, perhaps,_ Anna thought bitterly) and he didn’t say anything to her. He just reached forward and gave her hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze before he opened the door to announce her to His Lordship.  

   Taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders back, Anna entered the study, coming to stand before His Lordship, who had risen from his seat at the writing desk to greet her. “Good afternoon, m’lord,” she said, forcing her attention to remain centered on him, and not on the room that surrounded them.

   She and Mr. Bates may had never been in this room at the same time, but she could recall the days-- days that were a little over a decade past, she realized-- when she had breezed through her morning chores, thinking about Mr. Bates, the new valet with the limp. That’s all he’d been then, well, that, and the subject of many a daydream. His arrival had turned her into a heroine-- first the incident with the missing snuffbox, freeing him from prison, and everything that had come between-- and she’d known she’d found the kind of love that only existed in fairytales, the kind she thought didn’t exist. Mrs. O’Brien could scoff all she want and claim that Anna’s head was in the clouds, that no good would come of “pining after” Mr. Bates, but Anna knew she would remain firm in her optimism (not to mention, she only “pined after” him while he was in prison, though she wouldn’t consider that “pining.”). Being in love with Mr. Bates had been the most wonderful time in her life, a more meaningful reason to smile as she woke at five in the morning after yet another late night mending, a worthy cause for which to forsake but a few seconds of work.

   “Good afternoon, Anna,” Lord Grantham replied, offering her a kind smile.

   “Will you be needing anything, m’lord?” Carson asked from his post by the door, his voice unwavering as always.

   The earl shook his head. “I don’t think so, Carson, thank you,” he told the butler. “But I will ring if I do.”

   “Certainly, m’lord.”

   Anna didn’t dare look as Mr. Carson left, closing the study door behind her, afraid that she might lose whatever command she held over her composure in that moment. “You asked to see me, m’lord?”

   “Indeed, I did,” he said. “Please, have a seat.”

   Wordlessly, Anna obliged, settling herself on one of the settees. She sat with both feet flat on the ground, her hands clasped in her lap, and her back as straight as a pin. She knew the work that went into the upkeep of the furniture in this room, from the rugs to the chandeliers, and she would not allow the careful arrangements of cushions (or even the flecks of dust that sailed through the room like some sort of fey creature) to be disturbed on her account.

   His Lordship sat opposite her, and she noticed, for the first time, the black armband that he wore, and she wasn’t sure who to thank-- him, God, or whoever had dressed him this morning (either Thomas or Carson, she guessed, most likely Thomas). It was kind of him, to acknowledge the death of his valet (and friend, she recalled), even though his station did not require it of him.

      _Yes, someone else did dress him today,_  Anna thought. She didn't need to know her husband was absent to know this. Mr. Bates had always done things just so, with such careful, meticulous attention to every detail that she teased him about it. But whoever had dressed His Lordship today had done the earl's tie much more loosely than her husband would have, and the black armband was a little askew as well. 

   “I’m so sorry for your loss, Anna, I truly am. If there had been any way for me to help, I wish I could have.”

   “Thank you, m’lord,” she said, curling her fingers against the palm of her hand, hoping the feeling of her nails digging into her palm would keep her grounded. “I’m very thankful for all you’ve done to help Mr. Bates and me, and he was very lucky to have a...a…” _Just say it Anna. It’s not like it’s some great sin, like Mrs. O’Brien made it out to be._ “He was very lucky to have a friend such as Your Lordship.”

   “I’ve arranged to have the body brought here for a proper burial, as perhaps it might ease things a little,” Lord Grantham continued. “That leaves whatever he left as far as a will goes, as well as the cottage. You’ll be wanting to move back to Downton, I presume?”

   “M’lord, I don’t...I don’t know yet,” she answered, feeling herself begin to slip towards the gaping hole that had become the manifestation of her grief in the last hours. “It’s hardly been a day, and I’ve been trying to keep up with work, which hasn’t allowed me to give it much thought.”

   She hadn’t thought about the cottage, besides realizing that something would have to be done about it. It had been the place where so many of her memories with Mr. Bates had been made, and the thought of letting go of that seemed almost unfaithful to their struggle. And what of her garden? The peonies she’d finally been able to coax from the ground would just be beginning to come up, and the lavender plant that Mr. Bates had given her would be at its peak too. She couldn’t give up on that too, could she?

   He nodded in understanding, his lips pressed together in a somber line. “I understand,” he said. “Forgive me, Anna. I didn’t mean to rush things along. I do want you to know, however, if there is anything you need that is within my power, you should not hesitate to ask.”

   “Thank you m’lord. Thank you very much,” she said, silently vowing to herself that she would not ask for any help from His Lordship if she could avoid it. She didn’t want to think of herself as owing him, or taking advantage of her husband’s friendship with the earl-- a friendship that didn’t extend to her, she reminded herself. The only relationship between her and the Earl of Grantham was that of a servant and lord, and she ought to remember that, if anything else.

   “You’re welcome Anna, and once more, I’m so sorry for your loss.” The earl rose, and Anna rose with him, longing to leave so that she may return to her work and bury the grief that was threatening to show itself again. 

    "Thank you," she said for what felt like the millionth time in that meeting, though she was afraid to say much else, afraid she might lose her composure. 

     "I'm sorry to keep you from your work, but these are matters that should be settled." 

     "I understand m'lord, and they will be, I promise." Anna could feel the tears pushing to be released, but she fought them, at least until she was well out of the study and in the servants' stairway, which she mounted with her head ducked, her small feet hammering on the floorboards until she was safely in her old room, the door locked behind her. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this chapter, and I hope you continue on. If you have any comments, questions, concerns, random stories about your great-aunt's llama George, little dust bunnies you want to show me, you can leave a message, or reach me through tumblr via either the URL "altenprano," or "idontpretendtobealady." Yes, that was a little shameless self-promo there, but y'know, I'll just do it this once. Promise.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  So this is a bit of a fluff/filler chapter, featuring Mrs. Hughes, Mr. Carson, and a tea service! Enjoy, and many thanks to everyone who has read this piece. This is my baby (seeing as there is not likely to be a Banna Baby anytime soon), and I love sharing it with you!  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Doenton Abbey-- at all. Unfortunately. 

"How do you think Anna's meeting with His Lordship went?" Elsie asked, settling herself in a chair, glad for the opportunity to sit after an exceptionally busy day of seeing to her duties as well as making sure Anna was alright from time to time. 

The poor girl was already working herself beyond what even the most busy of the housemaids did, for ever since Mr. Bates had been arrested for Green's murder, Anna had hardly allowed herself an idle second. She'd stopped her work for meals, but only because Mrs. Hughes had threatened (with good intentions) to tell Lady Mary of Anna's restlessness, and that didn't mean she actually ate. No, come to think of it, Elsie didn't think she'd seen Anna do so much as lift a fork since Bates's second-- and final-- arrest.

She was beginning to lose weight again, though she hid it well, employing her talents as a lady's maid to pin her uniform dress so that it was less noticeable. And it was, if you weren't like Elsie, who'd watched Anna's slight frame go from elegant to almost sickly after the attack, then find its way back to the image of health after she and her husband reconciled, only to return to a poorer state over a matter of days. And the housekeeper knew the signs of grief too well, especially when it came to those under her watch, such as the distant look and constant need for work that overcame Anna when things turned for the worse.

"I can't say," Mr. Carson answered, breaking through Elsie's thoughts. 

The butler's voice betrayed his exhaustion, though by this hour, when everyone else was asleep, it was understandable. He worked very hard, and he took such pride in his work at Downton, it was no wonder he'd left the stage for a life in service. His role as butler seemed to come naturally, without the difficulties Elsie had always faced, trying to balance her role as housekeeper with the role of mother, which she played to all the female staff-- more so the housemaids than any others. 

"Is there going to be a service, at least?" She shifted in her chair, unwilling to drop her mask of neutrality just yet. 

She was a practical woman (otherwise, she would not hold the position she did), and she knew Mr. Carson to be just as practical, if not more so, which allowed for quick solutions and changes of plan, should the need arise. She needed his help in managing things, so that she could be there for Anna if she needed it, and knowing the date (if there was one yet) of the service would only help her plan ahead so she could be ready to support Anna. 

"I believe so," he answered, taking a sip from the teacup before him, whose contents had just ceased casting off steam a few minutes ago. "His Lordship managed to arrange to have the body sent here, so I imagine the funeral would be anywhere in the next week or so."

She nodded. "That's very kind of him," she said, folding her hands in her lap. "And Anna? Did she seem alright afterwards?"

Mr. Carson hesitated, smoothing his waistcoat with one hand as he held Elsie's gaze. "She's strong, Mrs. Hughes," he said. "And she's been tested more than anyone agrees is fair. Never before have I seen her so distraught, and, admittedly, it comes as quite a shock, how she bears it."

"She doesn't want to become like Lady Mary did, after Mr. Matthew's death, that's why."

"Of course not," he was quick to say, his jaw tightening at the mention of Lady Mary's descent into the abyss of grief that followed Mr. Matthew's accident. "She knows better than most--"

"That life goes on, yes," she finished.

"That it does, Mrs. Hughes, that it does," he said, his jaw relaxing and a small, almost bittersweet, smile creeping across his lips. "And we have a full day ahead of us tomorrow, which certainly will not wait."

She pursed her lips. "Indeed. Goodnight Mr. Carson."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and feel free to leave any comments below. They're super helpful when I get them, and it makes me happy to see that people take the time to comment on my brain child.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's Chapter 7! Sorry about the hiatus (this was a hard chapter to write, both actually and emotionally). As always, I don't own Downton Abbey, and all feedback is very much appreciated! Enjoy!

            _Today’s too lovely for a funeral,_ Anna thought as she walked alongside Mrs. Hughes to the village, where Mr. Bates was to be buried.

            And what a lovely day it was! The only clouds in the sky were wisps of white—like cotton, almost—and there were a few sparrows here and there, singing merrily as they flew from colored branch to colored branch along the roadside. A crisp wind blew through the trees, carrying flame-colored leaves away from their branches, sending them in front of the dark procession of Downton’s staff. 

            His Lordship had been beyond generous, arranging for Mr. Bates to be buried near his family plot, and Anna knew she would have to find some way to repay him. She didn’t know how she could possibly manage it—perhaps she would just continue to work as hard as she did. She wasn’t sure how it would work out, but it would, in the end, and she would find a way for sure.

            Everyone was very kind, attending his funeral like they were. They were a sorry lot, all dressed in dark hues, but moving with the same industry with which they carried out their tasks during the day. It made her wonder, if her husband had really made a lasting impression on the staff of Downton, or if they were coming simply because Mr. Carson had made a point of it being “decent” to attend the funeral of a colleague—they’d all gone to William’s, when he’d died.

            She remembered the day they’d buried William as being more or less sunny, like this one, though it was in the end of summer, so it was a few degrees warmer, for sure. She remembered seeing Daisy pausing stoically at the former footman’s grave marker, a plain white cross with his name, as well as his date of birth and the date of his death, printed in black across the marker. It had been difficult, losing William, her closest friend at Downton—before Mr. Bates had arrived, that is—and she remembered how distraught she’d been then, almost as much as she was now, forcing herself to move and keep pace with Mrs. Hughes.

            “It’s such a lovely day,” she said, the words leaving her lips without any genuine appreciation for the day. And why should she? She was going to bury her husband, and nature had the audacity to show its brightest colors for her to see, colors Mr. Bates had enjoyed in life (he was always marveling at autumn in the country, having lived in mostly urban areas for most of his younger days).

            Mrs. Hughes cast a worried look in her direction, looking as if she might take Anna by the hand, as one does a small child, but the housekeeper did not attempt to make any kind of contact, instead offering a gentle smile. “Indeed,” she replied, her voice almost as flat and distracted as Anna’s.

            “It’s proper, I suppose,” she said. “He always loved it when the leaves changed like this…I wish he could be here to see this year’s.” A flood of tears flowed from her eyes, and she wiped them away, not caring if she ruined her gloves or if she was making a scene.

            He would have loved this, she knew he would’ve.  It was the sort of day they would’ve taken a walk on, if Mr. Carson had let them, and if not, they would have spent some time after luncheon in the courtyard, enjoying the weather. Now, it seemed like a shame, to bury him on such a day, when it ought to be overcast and uncomfortably chilly, not blue skies and a slight breeze.

~*~*~*~*~

            She forced herself to watch as her husband’s coffin was lowered into the ground, just as she had forced herself to watch during his execution and his trial. Even though he was dead, she would still prove her bravery to him, as lost and hopeless as she felt standing there, with Mrs. Hughes on one side and His Lordship on the other.

            His Lordship’s expression was one of repressed grief—he was a peer after all, and peers of the realm did not display their emotions as they wished in public— but there was no mistaking his sorrow when his eyes flickered over to Anna. He hadn’t asked to speak with her since the day after her husband’s death, nor had he spoken her at all, come to think of it. He was giving her time to mull over what to do with the cottage, she supposed, and she thought him awfully kind for it.

            It wasn’t something she’d thought about, or rather, she hadn’t allowed herself to think about it. She’d been so busy in the days that followed Mr. Bates’s death, once more becoming withdrawn and increasingly absent at meals, every spare second spent making sure that Lady Mary’s gowns were beyond repaired, her shoes polished so much that they were practically mirrors, and she’d even taken on some of the hall boys’ duties to fill her time, so her mind was always fixated somewhere else, just not on Mr. Bates.  It was like she’d returned to the weeks that followed the attack, when she’d convinced herself that endless work was the only penance for her sin, that she must deprive herself of her husband’s touch if she wanted to ever come close to being pure enough for him again. The nightmares that had plagued her after the attack had returned as well, and she’d woken countless nights, her sheets and nightdress soaked through with cold sweat.

            She felt her control slip as Mr. Bates’s coffin disappeared into the earth, and an anguished cry passed her lips, breaking the eerie silence that’d settled over the mourners. Hot tears raced down her cheeks, and she didn’t even bother to wipe them away. She saw no reason to pretend that this didn’t matter to her, that she hadn’t just lost the love of her life—for good this time. Was she not allowed to mourn? Or was that to be expressed only through the black band she wore around the already-black sleeve of her uniform, or a somber, pensive demeanor at every moment of the day? 

            Some of the staff was already beginning to head back, to resume the day’s chores—life went on, she knew, especially for those in service—and if they hadn’t already, the surely were now. She thought she’d heard Thomas approach her, but it was probably her mind playing tricks on her, especially if Vera was taking up residence there now, and, before she knew it, only Daisy and Mrs. Hughes were left with her. 

            The housekeeper watched her with the concern of a mother, but she made no move to comfort the grieving woman, not in Daisy’s presence. As much as Anna wanted Mrs. Hughes’s comfort—comfort she would have otherwise refused—she understood that the older woman had to maintain the image of sternness in front of the assistant cook, as with all of the female staff. It was now that Anna wished she could present that same calm, and maybe then she would be able to move past all of this.

            She felt arms encircle her from behind, and her first impulse was to pull away from the sudden movement, but she recognized Daisy’s slender fingers, and was able to relax. Her heart still beat wildly in her chest, and she turned in the younger woman’s embrace so she was able to more appropriately receive the comfort she was being offered.

            “Thank you.”

            The words came out ragged—she didn’t know why she spoke them in the first place, what did she have to thank Daisy for?—and she felt the scorching rawness that came with nights of weeping over her husband. It was silly, that they should go through all they did, that she should be the one crying afterwards, that she only felt the rawness of her throat now, after it was all over. There was no use pretending, was there? It was over—he was dead. She’d seen his coffin lowered into the ground, and now she’d watched, with eyes blinded by grief, as some men from the village shoveled dirt over her husband. 

            She wondered if he had felt this same rawness, perhaps before he’d died, or perhaps in prison. Or had he suffered enough that he no longer felt the strain that followed on the heels of sorrow?

            The assistant cook just held her tight, whispering words Anna had difficulty deciphering, though she thought they were words of comfort—she had every right to assume such, no? “Let’s go, Anna,” she said, taking the lady’s maid by the hand. “I’ll see if Mrs. Patmore can make you some tea—that’ll help y’settle.”

            “Thank you.”

            It was all she could think to say, really. With her mind lingering on every moment with Mr. Bates—John, she corrected herself, realizing that only once had she called him that—she didn’t dare speak, for fear of weeping more. Every moment had been precious to her, she realized, good and bad, and she knew he would have thought the same.

            “Come ‘long,” Daisy said, taking Anna by the hand and leading her away with Mrs. Hughes not far behind. 

            It was almost funny, to have the assistant cook—who’d been almost ten years a widow—comforting an older woman who had just acquired the same label barely a week ago. It was a dark sort of funny, the kind that made for a good story if one was into that nature of storytelling, but Anna didn’t mind, glad to have the support and understanding of Daisy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I'm always interested to hear what you have to say (even if this has taken your heart and ripped it from your chest, then dragged it over legos and broken glass. That's good to know too), and I'm eager for feedback on my first big Banna piece. There may or may not be more chapters coming, I'm not sure. We'll just wait and see, yeah? Thank you very much!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading and please feel free to drop a review.  
> Again, thank you for reading!


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